


The Hands of Time

by stopwatch_plz (immiscibility)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-13
Updated: 2008-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immiscibility/pseuds/stopwatch_plz





	The Hands of Time

Title: The Hands of Time  
Characters: John, Sam, Dean  
Rating: PG-13  
Word Count: 3, 839  
Theme Set: Searching  
Prompt: Regret  
Summary/Warnings: Pre-series/wee!chesters.  
Beta'd by the lovely and fantastic [](http://nightporters.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightporters**](http://nightporters.livejournal.com/). Thanks hon :)

  


John blasted another round into the spirit in front of him and watched with deadened eyes as it dissipated in front of him.

Too many years doing this, too many years spent chasing after ghosts and fairy-tales, and too little time with family, goddamn it. When Mary died, a piece of him died along with her, and he hated to admit it but for a while he couldn’t look at his boys. He would see her in their eyes and it damn near tore him apart.

He’d used hunting as an excuse to keep running – not just from the things they hunted, but from himself. Never setting down roots long enough to start seeing somewhere else as home, avoiding all the associations, and he’d chosen to ignore what it had done to his kids.

Sam had grown up not only without a mother, but without a father too, and held more loyalty to Dean than to him. Coming up to his teens now, John could see the warning signs there, smoldering behind his eyes and threatening to ignite, sparking in all directions, setting off whenever John clashed with Dean. He’d started on his growth-spurt now, already level with Dean, four years his elder and no sign of stopping, a teenage boy made of unchecked rage, hormones and displacement… and John so totally and utterly unprepared to deal with it.

Dean had been different, those four years of having had a mother having an effect on him, maybe. He’d never discussed what had happened that night with either of the boys, but he knew Dean could remember enough, could remember the fear and terror and pain that were almost tangible in the air that night, along with the smoke from the burning house, taking with it his hopes and dreams and plans.

He loved his sons, he really did. Would do anything for them, would die for them. It almost killed him every night when he left them in whatever place he’d managed to get for the time, Dean’s eyes far too old and wise for his age, accepting whatever John told him with unwavering trust and belief, and the way he looked after Sam, as though it was all his fault and was somehow trying to make it up to him… John shook his head. Focus on the _now_ , and he wheeled round to a sound just in time to lay another round into the pissed-off spirit coming at him and sighed.

Time to go find these bones and finish the job.

…

Dean sighed.

“Look, we can do this the hard way, or my way. Which one?” Dean glared at Sam, who glared back, eyes glittering through his unruly hair that seemed to go in every direction other than straight – though Dean remembered the last time him and Dad had suggested to Sam about getting a haircut, and neither of them wanted that again.

“Don’t wanna.” Sam pouted and got up from the table. He stormed off, leaving half his dinner on the table and Dean at his wits end.

“Fine, well, whatever. Just that, when Dad comes home and finds you’ve wasted food again, I’ll just tell him you “didn’t wanna”?”

He was rewarded by the bedroom door slamming shut.

Rolling his eyes in frustrating, he picked up the plate of food left on the table and carried it to the fridge, putting it there to save for later. Sammy’d probably get hungry later and creep into the kitchen, thinking no-one could hear him, and eat the rest of his food, so Dean made sure to cover it properly so that it wouldn’t spoil. Though how appetizing cold burgers and beans were, he didn’t know, but there you go. Dumping the plates in the sink he walked back to the lounge, intent on watching the game on tonight so he could join in the talk at school tomorrow; another weapon in his arsenal to try and fit in. Dad had promised they’d get to see the Semester out in the town, and he knew Dad was really trying to keep his word. Unfortunately he also knew how miserable Sam was in school, separated from Dean and thrown into a class full of strangers he had nothing in common with. And he dealt with it the only way he knew how to – arguing.

Dean sighed as he walked to the couch, dropping his soda off on the table as he passed. He made to reach out for the remote, pausing as he heard a noise coming from the bedroom. Forgetting the TV, he walked over and put an ear to the door, his heart sinking when he realized the sound was Sammy crying. Without a second thought, Dean opened the door quietly and saw his brother lying face down, his body shaking with the effort of trying to hold back the tears.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered. Sam shot up, twisting round to sit up and slammed up against the headboard.

“Go away!” Sam shouted, throwing a pillow at Dean and going about three yards wide. He grabbed another nearby cushion, wrapping his gangly arms around it and holding it close, like a shield of armor.

“Hey, Sammy, it’s ok,” Dean walked towards the bed slowly, not wanting to spook his brother any more. He was freaked enough – being caught crying by your older brother was possibly a mortal sin – but Dean didn’t really care. If something was wrong with Sam, it was up to him to fix it.

“It’s ok,” Dean started as he made his way to the bed, but it served only to set Sam off again.

“Not it’s not! It’s not ok! I hate it, I hate everything… I hate Dad!” and with that he threw another pillow off the bed and it landed with a soft _thud_ on the floor by the opposite wall. Sam glared at Dean, his eyes still wet with unshed tears and he brought his knees up, almost folding himself in half, arms crossing over his knees and burying his face in his hands.

Dean sighed inwardly and pushed himself up the bed, spinning round so he was sitting next to Sam. Without a word he reached out with both arms and wrapped them round his little brother, from whom the rage and fight had gone. Sam slumped against him and made a small, hiccupping sound. Dean responded by sliding them both down the bed, making sure he was between Sam and the door, and they lay in silence until the evening light had turned to darkness and Sam had slipped into an uneasy sleep.

…

“What do you mean, No?” John shouted, as he stopped mid-step across the lino floor in the kitchen.

Dean swallowed hard, and almost backed down, but one glance at Sam standing by the bedroom door made him carry on.

“We’re not moving on, Dad. You promised us. You said we’d stay to the end of the Semester!” he said, proud that he wasn’t shouting, amazed he even got the words out.

“You will do as I say, boy! Do you understand?” John replied, pacing across the floor. “I have a hard enough time without you boys making it worse!”

Dean stared at the floor, a hot flush creeping up his face. He hated standing up to Dad, but hated being in the middle even more. Dad didn’t have to deal with Sammy crying himself to sleep, and whenever they got in a fight Dad just walked out, leaving Dean to diffuse Sam and try to get him calm.

“Might 's well put us in care,” Dean muttered as he turned round.

“What did you say?” John came striding over and yanked on Dean’s shoulder, spinning him around so that he turned a 180 and nearly fell over.

Dean glared up, too afraid to say anything but unable to back down.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ say crap like that again, you hear me?” John stared down at Dean who returned the gaze, unblinking, unyielding. He wouldn’t push any more, but he wouldn’t back down.

Suddenly, John pulled back, and swept his gaze over to the bedroom door, where Sam was still peeking out, mesmerized by the sight of Dean standing up to Dad. John sighed, picked up his duffel and made for the door.

“Routine as usual, back tomorrow. If I’m not back in 48, you know what to do” and he opened the door, letting it slam behind him.

“It’s ok Sammy, you can come out now,” Dean said, softly, and Sam slunk out from behind the doorframe, scuffing his toes as he walked. He reached Dean and looked up, still a couple of inches shorter than his older brother, and blinked, eyes wide and glittering with threatened tears again.

“Come on, nuisance. Let’s watch a film… and, seeing as you’re an ass, I’ll let you choose!”

Sam’s face brightened as he smiled and turned to go to the TV, rummaging through the piles of videos by the couch.

Dean waited a moment, then moved off to join his little brother, and whatever visual torture he was going to wreak on him.

…

  
John got out the car and turned round, resting his arms on the roof of the Impala and sighed. Goddamn, those kids were gonna be the death of him, he thought, disheartened. How the hell had he ended up here – Widower, two young kids, chasing ‘cross country after things most people didn’t even know existed. He knew he was doing it for Mary, for revenge, for closure… but what about the kids? Didn’t they deserve some time too..? But he couldn’t give the boys the time they needed while still chasing this fucking demon down.

John stood up and kicked the Impala’s front tire in frustration, then felt bad and apologized to the car. Wasn’t it's fault everything was going to hell in a handbasket.  
He picked up his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, making his way across the deserted lot where he’d parked up and made his way to the warehouse to kick some spirit ass.

This was a bad night to be anything supernatural.

…

Dean woke up suddenly, and for a moment panicked, not knowing where he was. Then the familiar surroundings swam into view and he realized he’d fallen asleep on the couch, some old monster movie playing quietly on the TV in front of him.

Looking through the dusty windows outside, he realized how late it was. He’d not made Sammy his dinner yet, and the kid got extra grumpy when he went without food – regardless of whose fault that was, he thought.

“Sammy, come on, let’s sort out dinner. Sorry it’s so late!” as he got up off the couch and made his way to the bedroom where he assumed his brother was still sulking.

“Come on, enough of that. We can make burgers tonight if you’re…” Dean opened the door to the room and stood frozen to the spot.

The bed was empty. In fact, the room was empty. Which meant the flat was empty.

Which also meant no Sam.

…

Sam scuffed along the pavement in the almost-dark, the streetlights few and far-between. He managed to trip over a wayward tree root, and he cussed under his breath, no-one around to hear him but muting it anyways, through force of habit.

He stood up and looked around, blinking a few times to adjust to the darkness, and to try and decide where to go. He’d had enough of following Dad’s every order, had enough of being ignored and pushed aside by him, and he didn’t want to be a burden on Dean anymore. He decided it would be better off for everybody if he just wasn’t there.

So he left.

…

Dean tore through the apartment like he was on fire, calling Sam’s name although he knew it was pointless.

He skidded to a halt in the hallway, faded wallpaper peeling from damp-infested walls, and he ran through options.

He shouldn’t leave the house, in case Sam came back from… wherever he was. But he couldn’t just stay here doing nothing! But what if Dad came back and found neither of them there?

In the end, Dean decided to write Dad a note, saying they were fine and would be back in a bit. There. No drama, no stress, and time for Dean to go find Sammy and drag his sorry ass back here.

He didn’t even entertain the idea that he might not find his brother.

…

John limped back to the car, bruised and bleeding from a tear on his forehead. Damn spirit had been a persistent one, but nothing a good ol’ salt’n’burn couldn’t cure, he thought.

Still, the night was but young, and it meant he’d get back to the boys at a decent time. And tomorrow was Saturday, so they’d have the day to themselves. Maybe he’d take them to the pictures in the Town across from them. Then burgers and milkshakes.

John let himself be lost in a rare daydream of Normal Life as he drove back to the apartment.

…

Sam sat under the weak light being emitted from the lamp above. After an hour of pointless wandering he realized he’d gone round in a big circle, ending up where he started from, and he almost burst into tears of frustration. He couldn’t even run away properly. What kind of a loser was he?

Just as he was wallowing in self-pity and teenage angst, he heard a noise. He sat upright, sniffed hard and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, peering out into the distance. Suddenly, Dean came running up the road, screaming his name like it almost hurt.

Sam blinked and stood up, and the movement caught Dean’s eyes. A huge smile broke across Dean’s face as he looked at his brother, and he put on an extra spurt of energy, flying across the deserted road.

When he reached Sam he flung his arms around him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s head and pulling him close – so close that Sam squeaked and flapped his arms a bit to try and tell Dean he was running out of air.

Suddenly, Dean pulled back and shoved Sam backwards, so hard that he tripped over his own feet and landed on his ass.

“Don’t you ever, EVER do that again, do you hear me, Samuel Winchester?!” Dean shouted, as he towered over Sam.

Sam was too scared to even _breathe_. He’d had Dad yelling at him loads, and he’d seen Dean raise his voice at Dad, but he’d never shouted at Sam. He blinked.

Suddenly, Dean sighed and bent down, holding out a hand for Sam and in one fluid movement, hauled his brother up from the curbside where he’d fallen.

“Why’d you take off like that, anyways?” Dean asked, as they fell into step together.

Sam just shrugged. “I’m fed up with it all –the shouting, the arguments, the way Dad never listens to anything I say and just ignores me… Better off without me anyways” he mumbled into his hoodie.  
Dean stopped suddenly, and Sam almost ran into the back of him.

“Sammy, don’t you ever, _ever_ think that, ok?” he looked down at his brother who just blinked at him.

“Come on, you pain. Let’s get back,” and they started their way down the road, back to the apartment.

…

John knew there was something wrong, even before he’d got out the car.

As he pulled into the lot outside, he was hit by a _feeling_ \- he couldn’t explain it, but it felt… wrong.

Sliding out of the car, he closed the doors quietly, making sure he took his duffel out the car first. He crept his way up the stairs outside to their front door, fished the key out his pocket and opened it, slowly.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of salt lines. My God, if that damn kid forgot… He shook the thought from his mind as he noticed just how quiet the place was. Creeping in through the hallway he cleared the lounge and kitchen area, and then the bedroom. Satisfied he was alone, he reached for the switch and flicked it on, the room suddenly bathed in low, artificial light. As he went to put his bag down, he saw something on the hallway table, and moved closer.

Then he read the note.

…

Sam stopped at the end of the road.

It took Dean a few seconds to realize that he was no longer being trailed by a rather sullen little brother, but when he did, he wheeled round and stared at Sam.

“Come here.” he said, leaving no room for argument.

However, Sam being Sam, ignored it.

“No.” Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, he at least had the presence of mind to blush a little, but he made no show of moving. He stared down at his feet as though he was worried they’d disappear if he took his eyes off them.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam, come _on_. We’ve gotta get back before Dad gets home or he’ll freak!”

Sam shook his head, hair flying everywhere and his bangs sticking to his forehead. “Don’t wanna go back to Dad,” he said, quietly.  
Dean walked over and put his arms round Sam, who initially tried to pull away from the rather un-manly hug from his brother, but then decided on the path of least resistance.

“I know it’s hard for you, Sammy.” Dean spoke softly, “but you gotta give Dad a chance. He doesn’t mean to be nasty or shout or anything he just… he just doesn’t, ok?” Dean kicked himself mentally for being useless with words.

Sam stood silent for a minute then pulled back, looking up at Dean. He blinked once then said, very seriously.

“Maybe we should run away together?”

Dean just laughed softly as he tousled Sam’s hair.

“No-one is running away anywhere – got that?”

…

John ran up to the top of the road and looked around, hands on hips, breathing hard – as much from sheer terror as the running

Where were the boys? Had they been taken? And, if so, by what? When? Where? All the questions kept going round his mind, getting faster and faster, and he couldn’t hear himself thinking for all the words in there.

He set off again, down the adjoining road, no idea where he was going but needing to go _somewhere_ and as he looked up he saw two small figures, standing by the roadside. As he got closer, he almost cried in relief as he recognized Dean and Sam, the latter hunched over, hands shoved deep in his pockets, with Dean standing guard next to him.

“Boys!” he shouted, as he sprinted over to them. “Boys… are you ok? What was it?”

Dean looked up at John and blinked in confusion. He hadn’t heard Dad turn up, and was wondering what on earth he was doing there.

“What was what?” he asked, slowly, winced at how dumb he sounded.

“From the apartment. What took you out?” John demanded.

Dean looked at Sam, who glanced up then back down again, and John cleared his throat. “It wasn’t anything, was it?”

Dean said nothing, and Sam, for once, wisely followed suit.

“Whatever you boys are up to, I suggest you stop it NOW and get back in that apartment this instance…” he glared at Dean. “You boy, you disappoint me – I’d expect this kinda crap from Sam but not from you!” and grabbing each of them by an arm, he marched them up the road.

…

The bedroom door closed with a slam, and Dean was left to face the music alone.

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean?” John shouted at him, pacing round the kitchen and running a hand through his hair. “How many times have I told you, stay in the apartment, and don’t go out – not for anything!”

Dean shifted and mumbled something.

“What did you say, boy? Speak up!” John demanded.

“I said, What if I went out for Sam?” Dean glared back, then instantly regretted it.

John stopped and his brow creased in confusion “What do you mean, went out for Sam?”

Dean meant to stop there, to stay quiet, to let it rest, but his mouth had always been his failing point, and after being so worked up, it all just came out.

“Sam was running away!” and he clamped his hands over his mouth as if the words had come out of their own accord, his eyes so wide it was almost comical.

John paused a second, then spoke slowly. “Why was he running away, Dean?”

Dean looked at the floor, a hot flush creeping its way up his neck and face, but he couldn’t not answer to his Dad.

“He said we were better off without him. That he was tired of all the shouting and the arguments and everything and Dad, he _said we were better off without him!_ ” and, much to the surprise of them both, Dean burst into tears.

John was taken aback at the new turn of events, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. Stunned in place for a few seconds, he watched his elder son descend into sobs, turn on his heels and run off to the couch. Before he could do anything else, the bedroom door flew open and a small whirlwind flew past him and latched itself onto Dean. It was only then he realized it was Sam, who had wrapped his arms around Dean and was hugging him, both of them on the couch together.

It was then that John Winchester realized something. He’d been treating the boys badly for acting like kids, but they _were_ kids. It sounded stupid to say it, but it was almost as if he only now got it, could see what they saw, could feel what they felt – and they were both scared and lonely. Like him.

With a sighed heavily and made for the couch. Kneeling down beside the two boys he took a deep breath then put his arms around them both and pulled them close.

Both Dean and Sam tensed at first, so unused to physical touch – something that pulled at John’s heart so badly – but after a while they both relaxed into him, and he slid up onto the couch, pulling both boys down into him.

They sat there in silence and, after a while, John realized that both of them were asleep; deep, even breaths coming from them both in an almost perfect rhythm. Not wanting to disturb them, he adjusted himself so that he was more comfortable, and settled down. He sat there in silence, wondering how things had gotten this bad, how they'd ended up like this, and vowed he'd make some changes.

There were many things John Winchester wanted in life. Regrets weren’t one of them.


End file.
